


The Lych Gate

by appalachian_fireflies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book length, Gen, Hogwarts, Horror, Marauders' Era, Mystery, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Slug Club, The Marauder's Map, two way mirrors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-08 05:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12248148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appalachian_fireflies/pseuds/appalachian_fireflies
Summary: Hogwarts, 1972.  Bodies have been disappearing from muggle mortuaries.  A fringe group of blood purists have begun to seize power.  And now, one by one, students have gone missing from the castle.story on hiatus due to lack of interest and author doing other things~





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The marauders' second year at Hogwarts happens to coincide with one of Voldemort's most effective tools of terror, and, well. These boys were never very good at staying out of trouble.

Even before the body disappeared, Tobin had been having a very trying day. 

It began with complaints that the late Mrs. Peabody’s makeup was “garish” by those gathered to celebrate her modest life. Tobin had not previously been aware that Mrs. Peabody had spent the majority of her blessed life as Sister Peabody, but he became quite well informed after Director Crankshaw spent half an hour giving him a good verbal blistering. 

“Tobin,” Crankshaw said once he’d lost steam, his face bright red and pulling at his black polyester jacket to vent it. “Now, you know there are two things that are important to me in this world,” he held up a finger. “One, family.” He gave Tobin a look to make sure this sank in. 

Tobin nodded.

“Two,” he held up another finger, giving it a shake for emphasis. “My customers. Now, I’ve hoped the day wouldn’t come where I would have to choose between family,” he put up the single finger again, “and smart business decisions.” He held up a second finger, and gave Tobin a long look. 

This was how Tobin went out to have a smoke, and the body of one Chase Swift disappeared. 

Tobin had not noticed at first, feeling quite sorry for himself as he pulled on his gloves and shuffled over to the cold drawers. He was so caught up in considering his transferable skills (how did one become a taxidermist, anyhow?) that he slammed straight into Mr. Swift’s open drawer. 

Nursing the bruise forming on his thigh, Tobin limped through the mortuary, past the sinks and to the open door. “Alright, you’ve had your fun!” he yelled, banging on the metal table. “I warn you, I am _not_ to be trifled with today!”

Neither the culprit nor the body of Mr. Swift appeared. 

Tobin hobbled over to slam the metal drawer shut with a loud _clang_ , and a possibility occurred to him. 

“Mr. Swift?” he called. “Chase Swift, eh? You having me on?” He glanced around for hidden cameras. “Am I on the telly right now?” 

Director Crankshaw appeared in the doorway, sweating profusely in his suit. “What are you on about now, Tobin?”

“I’m looking for the hidden cameras,” Tobin peered in the empty cold drawer. 

“That may be, but your shouting has interrupted Ms. Giddin’s service,” he paused. “The what now?” 

“Cameras, for the telly,” Tobin muttered. “This is some elaborate prank, I’m sure of it.” 

“Prank?” Crankshaw peered at the drawers, then at the table. “Where are Mr. Swift’s remains?” 

“Got up and walked away, I think,” Tobin muttered. 

“Got up and- you don’t mean Mr. Swift?” Crankshaw’s eyes bulged from his head. 

“Chase Swift, you see,” Tobin laughed. “Got up while I was out. You’re in on it as well, yes?” 

“Tobin,” Crankshaw pulled a tissue from his pocket, and mopped his forehead. “You will tell me where the body of Mr. Swift is right this moment if you know what’s good for-“

Tobin broke into a fit of laughter. “Any moment now,” he looked around at the ceiling. “I’ve gotten it, very well done.” 

The mortuary was silent. 

“Tobin,” Crankshaw shook two fingers, “I think you’d better consider your position.” 

“I locked the drawer,” Tobin realized, feeling rather cold. “I- good lord, where has he gone?” 

*

James watched the remainder of his ice cream slowly turn to soup in Fortescue’s whirling glass bowl, his body sliding down the wrought iron chair inch by inch as if he were melting with it. 

“Mum?” he said from beneath the table. 

“About six months along, is that right Molly?” Euphemia Potter crooned, ignoring her melted son. 

“Yes,” Molly Weasley glowed, placing a hand on her belly, the other on her toddler Bill’s head. 

“She’ll be about as round as a planet, come December,” Gideon Prewett demonstrated with his hands, and Molly smacked him with a spoon. 

“And as bright as the sun, innit that right sis?” Fabian, his twin brother with the same bright orange hair, winked. 

James sighed, rooting through his bag where he’d placed it down on the cobblestones of the alley. All the other witches and wizards were bustling about from shop to shop, but his parents were old and boring and liked chatting at tables for hours and hours. 

James pulled out a worn little box with a metal clasp, and pulled a round golden ball from it. The snitch’s wings extended immediately with a low buzz, and he released it, only to snatch it back again. 

“What do you think about those muggles they say have been disappearing?” Arthur’s voice said above him. James pulled himself up into his chair. 

“Who’s they?” Fabian raised an eyebrow. “Lovegood still printing that mad rag in his dorm room?” 

Gideon leaned forward. “Fabian and I have a difference of opinion here. What’ve your lot been saying at work, Arthur?” 

“Well,” Arthur leaned forward, “this is pure speculation, you understand, but we've been seeing a rise in muggle-baiting. And it seems a blood purist fringe group has claimed responsibility for-“

“Hullo, James dear,” Molly smiled at him, and James startled, nearly losing the snitch as he lurched across the table to grab it. 

“Oho,” Gideon snatched the snitch from midair, and handed it back to James. “Quidditch star in the making, are we?” 

“I’m going to make chaser this year,” James said, and Fabian laughed. 

“I’ve no doubt,” Fleamont Potter said, patting his son’s hair into obedience. “But you’ll need a proper broomstick to do that, won’t you?” 

James sat up straight so quickly he nearly toppled the chair. “Really?” 

“As long as you don’t neglect your studies,” Euphemia smiled at him. 

“YES,” James stood, grabbing his bag. He ruffled his hair until it defied gravity once more. 

“Catch me up later,” Fleamont said as he was tugged away. 

“Bye troublemaker,” the twins waved at James. 

Quality Quidditch Supplies was full to the brim with students admiring polished broomsticks that slowly rotated midair. Small scale models of the brooms zoomed across a quidditch pitch only a meter long, showing off their features as they bolted and spiraled and braked. A group of second-years hovered over the pitch, sighing as a Cleansweep Four sailed past a Bluebottle. 

“Alright,” James crossed him arms over his chest, looking critically at the line of brooms against the back wall. “Seeker Weekly says the Cleansweep’s a solid broom, though of course the Comet 180’s a better investment.” 

“Mm,” Fleamont’s eyes passed absently over the line of brooms. 

“The Shooting Star looks nice now, but give it a couple years and a butterfly’ll pass it.” 

“Hmm,” Fleamont ignored him. 

“James!” a short, blonde boy waved with a hesitant grin. 

“Hey Pete!” James crowded in beside the pitch. “Dad,” he looked back over his shoulder at Fleamont, who stood out above the crowded students and parents as the oldest person in the room. “This is my friend Peter.” 

“Oh,” Fleamont extended a hand, which Peter shook after a moment of hesitation. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Heard what?” Peter said, and James laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“Er,” Peter flushed. “Have you seen Remus? Lost him somewhere in the basement of Flourish and Blotts.” 

“Oh, he’s back from Croatia then?” James said. “I got his letter, with the goats. Listen,” James leaned in. “Have you heard anything from Sirius?” 

“No,” Peter frowned. “Never replied to me. Hasn’t he sent you anything?” 

“No,” James frowned. “Thought maybe he’d been traveling.” 

“James,” Fleamont beckoned him over. “What do you think about this one?” 

Fleamont stood beside a broom that was near the storefront windows, and James had to fight through a small crowd to reach him. The window had been roped off to allow the broom to fly a short length, then brake suddenly to a halt. The polish on its handle showed off a gilded inscription: _Comet 220_. 

“Comes with our patented Horton-Keitch braking charm, it says,” Fleamont read the inscription beside it aloud. “Seems like that could come in handy,” his lips twitched in a smile as he examined his son. 

James approached the broom with something like reverence. He cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said casually. “It’s a good investment.” 

“Never overshoot your goals!” the shopkeeper winked. “Can’t do much better than this broom here.”

“The Comet company’s produced quality brooms for a few decades,” James said. “They’re insured for life against any faulty materials or charms.” 

“This one knows his broomsticks!” the shopkeeper smiled. 

“I think this is the one, then,” Fleamont nodded to the shopkeeper. 

“Thanks, dad,” James said, and Fleamont gave his hair a pat. 

“I know you’ll take good care of it,” he replied. “Just remember the body atop it as well.” 

Peter approached them at the register, glancing longingly at the broomstick being wrapped up in brown paper. “I’ve been thinking I might try out for the team this year.”

“Oh,” James said, surprised. “Sure, Pete. Maybe we can practice together.”

“Yeah?” Peter brightened. “Swell. See you ‘round.” 

The broomstick was significantly larger than James’ body, but he insisted on carrying it and his bag through the crowded alley, the tops of its wrapped twigs bouncing near his father’s head as he walked. 

“James,” Fleamont chided, “please look where you’re swinging that.” 

“Sorry,” James turned the broom, and smacked a tall wizard in long black robes. The man’s hat went flying, and James ran to catch it. 

“So sorry,” Fleamont apologized. “My son can be a bit,” he watched James, triumphant, wave the hat aloft. “Overzealous.” 

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” the man said, looking troubled. 

“Sorry sir,” James handed the hat back, then went about the alley looking for his scattered books. 

“Ah,” the man smiled, picking up _Darkest Creatures: A theoretical guide_. “You’re one of mine.”

“Sorry?” James pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. 

“Professor Nimrode,” he extended a hand, which James shook automatically. “I’ve been hired as your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

“Nimrod?” James asked, and the man frowned. 

“Nimh-road,” he corrected, white hands folding back into his long sleeves. 

“M.J. Nimrode?” Fleamont asked. “Have I seen your articles in The Practical Potioneer and Achievements in Charming?” 

“Yes,” the man chuckled. “I have a few publications under my belt.”

“Fleamont Potter,” his dad said. “Pleasure.” 

“Ah, the entrepreneur,” Nimrode’s lips thinned. “Yes, well I ought to be moving on. Plenty to prepare before next week!” 

James watched Nimrode walk away, then leaned up to whisper to his father, batting him in the shoulder with his broomstick. “What’s his problem?” 

“Don’t worry about a thing like that,” Fleamont patted James’ hair down. “We’d better get back to the estate, eh? Give you some room to put that broomstick to the test?”

“Quidditch weekly says the Horton-Keitch can go from 60 to 0 in five seconds,” James peered beneath the paper wrappings at the gleaming handle. 

“Well,” Fleamont winked. “Do me a favor, and don't tell your mother that."


	2. Chapter 2

When Sirius stepped through the barrier and saw the Hogwarts Express, he wanted to plaster himself to its gleaming red paint and kiss it hello. He also did not want to give his mother, who eyed him rather more like a buzzard than a hawk, the satisfaction. 

“Goodbye, mother,” Regulus kissed Walburga’s cheek, and gave Sirius a look.

“Mother,” Sirius straightened his shoulders and extended a hand, pumping it a few too many times. “A pleasure, as ever. Pip pip!”

Walburga narrowed her eyes at her eldest. “See that you don’t forget yourself this year, Sirius.”

“I think I’m beginning to remember myself,” Sirius said, and followed Regulus to the train, feeling his mother’s eyes on his back. 

“I wish you wouldn’t antagonize mother,” Regulus said, low. “It affects me as well when she’s after you.” 

“Ah, but she’s so susceptible to baiting,” Sirius stopped short in the door of the train. “Lucius,” he greeted a man with long, white-blond hair. “I’ve heard we’re about to be related. Again. I’m so looking forward to seeing the extra toes on the offspring.” 

“Regulus,” Lucius ignored Sirius. “Narcissa’s reserved a spot for you in our carriage.” 

_Carriage,_ Sirius mouthed, amused, but Regulus did not look at him. “Mother’s thought ahead this year, has she?” Sirius gave Lucius a knowing look. “Reg, I’ve already got a spot for you. Even better, my friends don’t bite.” 

“I’ll see you around, Sirius,” Regulus hoisted his trunk, darting a glance back at their mother. 

“A smart decision,” Lucius praised, smirking at Sirius before he led Regulus to the other side of the train. 

“Shite,” Sirius muttered, hauling his trunk with a violence that made the other students scatter. He nearly stalked past James, who darted an arm out and grabbed Sirius around the shoulders to herd him into a compartment, oblivious to his mood. 

“Sirius!” James shouted, slapping him on the back. His glasses were slightly askew, and he leaned back to ruffle his hair until it stood up in disarray. “Where’ve you been? Haven’t heard from you in months.”

“Well, you know,” Sirius drawled, stowing his trunk, “bit difficult to answer owls when you’re locked away in the cellar of the ancestral home.” He rolled his eyes. “Father’s been burning my letters. If they disowned me, everyone would talk, so they’re doing their best to shut me up in the meantime.” 

“Lost cause, that,” James laughed, sitting down beside him. Across from them were a short blonde boy handing Bertie Bott’s beans to a lankier boy with bruises down the left side of his face and his arm in a sling. 

“Figured you’d been traveling or something,” James continued. “Like this one,” he gestured to Remus. “All the way to Croatia and some battle wounds to show for it.”

“About right,” Remus agreed. “Went hiking, thought I’d fight the mountain. It won.”

“That so?” Sirius gave him a long look, but Remus only smiled and looked away. 

“Peter,” Remus nudged him. “What’d you get up to?”

“Oh, er,” Peter seemed overwhelmed by the sudden attention. “Stayed home, mostly.” He flushed, as if realizing he ought to embellish. “My mum got a pool membership, this summer. Went for a few swims.” 

“Ace,” James said, looking to Sirius in confusion at the word ‘pool.’ “Hey,” he said suddenly, “isn’t your brother starting this year?” 

“Yes,” Sirius said, short. 

“Well, where’s he got off to?” James smiled, oblivious of Remus’ pointed look. “I’d like to meet another of the infamous Blacks.”

“He’s buggered off to the Most Ancient and Noble Slytherin Pure-Blood compartment, is where,” Sirius replied. 

“Ah,” James nodded. “Sorry, mate.” 

“’S fine,” Sirius lounged, stretching his legs out in front of himself and crossing them at the ankle. “I don’t care.”

“Hey,” James kicked Sirius’ ankle. “Take a look under the seat, Mr. Black.” 

Sirius raised an eyebrow, but unfolded himself to lean forward and reach beneath the bench. When he’d retrieved the object below them, his eyes widened. “This is a-“

“Comet 220,” James preened. “Gave it a go at home. Flies like a dream.” 

“Nice, Potter,” Sirius ran his fingers over the polished handle. 

“James says we can all have a go tomorrow,” Peter piped up. 

“How’s this one different from other broomsticks?” Remus asked, brow furrowing as he studied the broom, as if by staring he might divine the other boys’ reverence. 

“How’s this different from other broomsticks, he asks,” James laughed. “Lupin, my dear sausage, only in every way.” He straightened up. “It’s faster,” he ticked off one finger, “the turn radius is the size of a snitch, and it brakes from 60 to 0 in five seconds.”

The other boys murmured appreciatively. 

“Ok,” Remus eyed the Comet. 

Sirius tsked. “Pearls before swine,” he said sadly, and Remus flicked an earwax bean at Sirius’ head, which stuck wetly in his long black hair. 

“First blood,” Sirius levitated the box of beans towards himself, dislodging the bean and tucking his hair behind his ears. “But I play to win.” 

That evening, Regulus was sorted into Slytherin with loud applause from the Slytherin table and a stony look from Sirius. 

“Sirius,” Remus tried, but Sirius ignored him. 

“James,” Sirius bit savagely into a turkey leg. “How’s the Comet do on a barrel roll?” 

James lit up at once, and prattled on for a good ten minutes regarding the mechanics of just how well a Comet executed a barrel roll, with Peter happy to make appreciative noises at every dramatic pause. 

When Dumbledore’s speech was through and the students filed off to their dormitories, the four boys nearly ran into Lucius Malfoy, who had hung back by the great wooden doors.

“Cissy is delighted,” Lucius called, and Sirius gave him a cool look. “Families must cull one bad apple to avoid infecting the lot, from time to time. It must be a relief to your mother to know it wasn’t catching.”

“It’s hard being the white sheep of the family,” Sirius sighed. “But I sleep well at night knowing I’m not a giant prat.” 

“Are these your friends?” Lucius gave Remus’ too-short, second-hand robes a slow, disdainful look from head to toe. “Mudbloods and,” he snorted at James’ finer robes, “the noveau riche.”

“Don’t say that word,” Sirius reached for his wand, but James grabbed the sleeve of his robe. 

“Malfoy,” James squinted, “you’ve got some cranberry sauce-“ he pointed to his nose, and Malfoy immediately looked off-put, rubbing at the imaginary sauce. 

“Classic,” James laughed, high-fiving Sirius. 

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, and extended his arm to straighten his robes, which billowed impressively. “Have your petty triumphs now. There won’t be room for blood traitors at Hogwarts forever.” 

The four boys watched him go, and Peter laughed. “Nice one, James.”

“Yeah,” James ruffled his hair. Sirius watched Lucius go, frowning. 

This year, the marauders had officially been given their own room, as their previous roommate had been the unfortunate recipient of a hex that had doubled his head to twice its size and took about a week to deflate. Bertram was a good deal happier to room with the other Gryffindor boys, and had turned out to be a stellar competitor in the wizard’s chess club.

James and Sirius passed notes through their first Charms, Potions, and Astronomy lessons. After one of the paper owls repeatedly hit Remus’ quill, scratching through a line of his painstakingly inked Astronomy notes, Remus had threatened not to share them. To this, Sirius had replied that he’d known all there was to know about the subject since crawling in nappies. 

“Not too much homework,” Peter said cheerfully as they descended from the tower and went out into the grounds to enjoy one of the last long, warm days of summer. 

“Good chance to get ahead,” Remus nodded, dropping his bag beneath a large, shady oak. 

“Come on, Remus,” James laughed, tugging off his shirt and following the other students, who were wading in the Black Lake and lounging on the sandy shoreline. “Professors've barely said more than hello today. Wouldn’t kill you to unbutton a bit,” he looked pointedly at Remus’ done-up tie.

“And get soggy underpants? No thanks,” Remus pulled out his first tome, and sat. 

“Lupin here’s angling to be Minister,” Sirius laughed, joining James. 

“I like to keep my options open,” Remus said, not looking up from his book. 

“Remus!” Lily Evans waved from a nearby tree where she was sharing a pile of crisps with Dorcas and Marlene. 

James, upon spotting Lily, who was as terrifying as she was beautiful and had directed her wrath more than once towards him, decided to let Remus be. 

“Remus, watch the Comet?” James pointed to his broomstick, and Remus nodded. 

After a bit of splashing and taunts to a giant squid that never emerged, James, Sirius, and Peter huddled around the Comet. 

“Can I give it a go?” Peter asked excitedly. 

“Yeah, sure Pete,” James handed the broomstick over. “Goes a lot faster than the old Shooting Stars though, make sure you account for it.” 

“Sure,” Peter climbed aboard the broomstick. It shot off like a rocket before Peter quite got a foothold, and at about ten feet he fell on an unfortunate bush with a shriek. 

“I’m alright,” Peter rolled from the bush, plucking brambles. 

James walked over and clapped him on the back. “Good demonstration of the recovery charm,” James said as the broom drifted gently back to him. “Might want to practice on some of Hooch’s brooms before you give it another go.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Peter flushed red as a group of nearby Gryffindors clustered together, laughing as someone demonstrated the fall. 

Sirius neatly mounted the broom next, shooting across the lake to execute flashy barrel rolls to the hollers of his classmates. He came back flushed and grinning, and handed the Comet over to James. 

“Want to take it a bit farther, see how fast it can really go,” Sirius said. 

“Reckon we can both fit,” James got on the broom, and Sirius joined him as Peter eyed them enviously. “Think we can go as far as Hogsmeade without getting expelled?” 

“Not if they don’t see us,” Sirius hopped gleefully onto the broom, pointing toward the thick groves of trees in grounds west of the forest. “See that valley, there-“

“Yeah, alright,” James pushed his glasses firmly up on his nose. “Hang on.” 

Sirius grabbed the broomstick and cackled like a madman as they shot off towards the forest. They’d been flying several minutes when they realized the valley was further than it had first appeared. 

“We ought to just fly over the castle,” Sirius said, the wind whipping past their faces as James accelerated. “That’d be a lark.” 

“No, we’re almost there,” James dove lower. As they dropped towards the tops of the trees, James went rigid on his broomstick. The broom began rapidly losing altitude, and Sirius’ feet brushed the top of a tall pine.

“James,” Sirius shouted, “pull up!”

James did not seem to hear him, ducking even lower until Sirius was sure they would crash. He closed his eyes, bracing himself, but moments later they were still flying. Sirius opened his eyes. 

The trees had given way to a small clearing, and the broomstick flew rapidly through the open air towards the ground. 

“James,” Sirius shouted, “brake!”

This time, James seemed to hear him, and he pulled up sharply to brake before they hit the ground. 

“Horton-Keitch charm,” James stumbled off the broom. “60 to 0 in five seconds.” 

“You mad bastard!” Sirius dismounted, leaning over to catch his breath. “I thought- Merlin,” he panted, standing back up and looking around. “Where are we?” 

“Dunno,” James stared up at the broken structure in front of him. It was ancient, wooden with a thatched roof atop four short columns. It had been rent in two, splintered pillars pointing up towards the sky. Beyond it lay a graveyard. 

James approached the broken shelter, and reached out to touch the jagged pillar. 

“Don’t,” Sirius said, unusually serious. “You never know what kind of dark magic might be hanging about in a place like this.” Then, seeming to realize his tone, he added, “I don’t want to have to lug your guts back to Pomfrey.” 

“Right,” James said absently, still standing at the shelter. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Sirius mounted the Comet. “James?” 

“Yeah,” James nodded, walking back over to join him. 

“You alright, mate?” Sirius gave him a look, and James seemed to shake himself. 

“Yeah, yeah,” James mounted the broom. “Just felt a bit sick for a second. Need to get used to the acceleration.”

“I wasn’t going to be the first to say it,” Sirius laughed. James kicked off from the ground, heading back towards the castle. “Want to practice at the pitch tomorrow? I’d like to get a few good swings in, if you don’t mind chasing.” 

James grinned, hair fanning out in a wild crown. “Twist my arm, Mr. Black.”


	3. Chapter 3

Professor Nimrode sat hunched over a sheaf of parchment, black robes fluttering with each small movement of his arm. His long silver quill jerked in tandem with his neck, and the scratching filled the high-steepled classroom. 

The Slytherin and Gryffindor second-years had claimed their respective halves of the room, divided neatly down the center. Each student watched the progression of the quill in silence, except for James Potter, who had rested his forehead on the desk and fallen into a gentle drool. 

Professor Nimrode continued to write, and the students continued to watch, occasionally glancing at one another. 

Lucinda, a Slytherin girl who had drunk five raw eggs that morning in preparation for the evening’s Quidditch tryouts, picked up her textbook and held it high above herself. Every eye except James Potter’s followed the movement, the long few seconds as she held it over the stone floor. Her expression did not change as she dropped _Darkest Creatures_ , and it slammed into the floor with a loud _bang_.

Nimrode looked up, a forward swivel of the neck that revealed first his brows, then his eyes, which seemed to bore into Lucinda.

“Clumsy,” Lucinda said, leaning over to pick up her book. 

“First-years, is it?” Professor Nimrode glanced over the class. 

“Second-years, sir,” Remus raised his hand. 

“Ah,” Nimrode peered down at his own copy of _Darkest Creatures: A theoretical guide_ , thumbing through the table of contents. “Right. Today I shall be lecturing about Banshees. A grotesque creature, terrible to behold. The cognomen “banshee” refers to the scream which instantly kills any man unfortunate enough to hear it. Their range is restricted to the Scottish Moors-“ 

Remus’ brow furrowed at this, and he raised his hand. 

Nimrode did not seem to notice. 

“Also known as heath, or an area of poor drainage.”

“Isn’t that where we are,” Peter blurted, which made Nimrode’s gaze swivel to him. “Uh, sir,” Peter squeaked. 

“Yes indeed,” Nimrode replied, turning back to the textbook. “The banshee has webbed phalanges…”

James Potter began snoring softly. Next to him, Sirius Black was transcribing runes from a small vellum book into the base of his wand via knife. 

“No one knows the true call of the banshee, as no one has survived to tell the tale,” Nimrode continued. Remus’ brows had gained a semi-permanent line etched between them, and he began circling large portions of his own neat script. 

Nimrode lectured up until the end of the hour, at which point he abruptly stopped, hunched over his parchment, and continued writing. 

“Weird bloke, huh,” Peter whispered. 

Remus opened his mouth, then closed it. He stared for a moment at his parchment. 

Sirius who had been poking James with the tip of his wand, glanced around the emptying classroom. “Ennervate,” he whispered, and James jumped out of his seat, chair clattering to the ground. 

“Quidditch tryouts,” James said frantically, his hair standing on end as he patted around the desk. 

Sirius handed James his glasses, which were not improved for having been slept on. “Most important day of your life, mate. Get some Pepper-Up and haul arse.” 

“Right,” James nodded, still looking a bit dazed. 

“Broom,” Sirius shook James’ shoulders, increasingly frantic. “Pepper-Up. Now.” 

“Broom,” James repeated, grabbing his bag. 

Remus eyed James as he tilted sideways. “Maybe you should see Pomfrey.” 

“No!” Sirius and James chorused, leaning forward as if to cover Remus’ mouth before anyone heard. Nimrode continued to scratch away at his parchment. 

“What if it’s Dragon Pox?” Sirius hissed. 

“Exactly,” Remus frowned. 

“She might lock me in the infirmary,” James looked faint. “I’d miss tryouts.” 

“Perish the thought,” Remus said. His gaze cut sideways to Nimrode. “I’ve got to do some research. Peter, you coming?” 

Peter reddened. “Thought I might try out.” 

“Oh,” Remus hesitated before dropping his textbook into his bag. 

“Doesn’t hurt to try, right?” Peter scratched at his scalp. 

“’Course,” Remus smiled. “You’ll do fine.” 

James’ bag clattered to the ground at the doorway. “’S fine,” he announced, picking up his books. “Won’t have to walk straight in the air, will I?” 

Sirius whimpered, wrapped the fingers of both hands in his long hair, and pulled hard. “Twenty-seven minutes.” 

*

The library was nearly as tall as it was wide, with long glass windows several stories high to let in the light. Outside, a grey drizzle had obscured the sun, and dozens of gas lamps flickered to life, pools of light between the tall shelves throughout the main floor. Against the back wall and between the windows were recessed shelves that held thousands of volumes, each column with a wooden chair placed facing the base. 

Remus breathed in ink and rosin from pages that were thousands of years old, and he ran his fingers lightly over the spines of the newer books as he passed to the far wall. The worn oak seat of the chair at the column of the beasts section shivered when he sat. 

“Ascendo,” Remus tapped the chair with his wand, and it rose slowly, the ground retreating beneath him. The titles were alphabetical by creature, and he passed a large section of volumes on werewolves. After several long moments he halted the chair as it neared the ceiling, fingers running over the sparse section on banshees. There was a large gap near the end of the section; all of the recently published volumes were gone. 

“Ms. Bechdel,” he whispered, “has someone checked out the books on banshees?” 

After a moment, a small paper owl alighted on the back of his hand. It shook itself and fell open into a flat sheet of paper. _Lily Evans has them at the tables. Welcome back, dear. –Ms. B_

Remus glanced over at the small cluster of tables near the windows, and spotted the red spill of Lily’s long hair over her shoulders. 

When Remus’ feet had once again touched solid ground, Lily had been joined by Marlene, a Slytherin fifth year with short black hair, and Dorcas, a Ravenclaw with her hair pleated in a long braid. Marlene was pointing to something in Lily’s open book, and Dorcas watched her with a smile. 

“Do you mind?” Remus asked. 

“Oh, Remus,” Lily gestured to an open chair. “What did you think of Professor-“

“Nimrod,” Marlene snorted. 

“I tend to agree,” Dorcas nodded. 

Marlene smiled at her. “Easy target, but good aim yeah?” 

“I thought I’d read about someone who’d survived a banshee scream,” Lily informed Remus. “Dorcas and Marlene are certain it’s only deadly within a range of a thousand meters.”

“Right!” Remus felt the furrow he’d been carrying between his brows loosen. “And a banshee scream is only deadly to humans! It’s been heard by vampires, for instance.”

“Remus’ dad works at the, um,” Lily’s hand fluttered, and rested on the open book. 

“Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” Remus said, the words spilling into one another. “My dad tracked a banshee in Cardigan Bay last year. They haven’t been confined to the moors for ages.”

“Nimrode is a bit of a…specialty academic,” Dorcas replied. 

“Must have been a bad year for Ministry grants on necromancy,” Marlene crossed her arms over her chest. 

“He’s written about a dozen papers on protection circles,” Dorcas agreed. 

“He might’ve lost popularity with the Ministry, but he hasn’t with the twenty-eight. Nor, I imagine, with the school board of directors,” Marlene raised an eyebrow significantly. 

“The twenty-eight?” Lily asked. 

“Sacred Twenty-Eight. Pureblood wanking circle,” Marlene rolled her eyes. 

"Sirius has mentioned it," Remus nodded. 

"You friends with Sirius Black?" Marlene whistled. "Madder'n an erumpent in season, that one."

"She thinks he's brave," Dorcas translated, seeing Remus' frown. 

"He's a talker," Marlene laughed. “Malfoy and Dolohov have been taking notes. I mean, when they try to shut me up I go louder, but _my_ mum and dad support me speaking my truth and warding my bed at night."

“They wouldn’t do anything here,” Lily tucked her hair behind her ear. “In the castle.” 

Marlene looked sideways at Dorcas, who dipped her head to the side. 

“I mean, the lesser part of Slytherin has been ranting about muggle-borns in the school for a couple centuries now,” Marlene straightened her tie. “Likely it’s just noise.”

“What are they saying?” Lily pressed, face flushing red as her hair and her lips tight. 

“No one’s listening,” Dorcas answered. “They’re just some prats who’re upset the world doesn’t belong to them.” 

“Well,” Lily huffed. “I’d love to have them say it to my face, some time.” 

Marlene’s frown deepened. “They'd better never get that bold.” 

*

James sloshed through an inch of water to the center of the pitch, glasses fogged with raindrops, grinning widely. 

“Beautiful day to make Chaser,” he vibrated. 

Sirius doggedly trucked through the mud, bat on his shoulder. His borrowed leather pads from the supplies locker reeked of sweat. Peter jogged behind them, struggling with a knotted clasp. He nearly ran into James where he had halted at the cluster of Gryffindors, leaning casually on the shining Comet. 

The captain, who stood dead center of the pitch, turned narrowed eyes on James. “Potter,” she barked, “broomstick out of the mud!” 

“Yes Captain,” James gave his broom a quick shake as thunder boomed through the pitch. 

“Gryffindor won the cup in a hailstorm in ‘70,” Aisha yelled to the cluster of Gryffindors. She tucked her scarf over her hair and secured it with a water-repelling charm. “If you’re afraid of a little rain, make my job easier and go back to the castle now.” 

The Gryffindors dripped in place, and Aisha nodded. “Beaters, in the air!” 

Sirius flew on the old Silver Arrow with practiced ease, reflexes sharp as the bat cracked against the quaffle in rapid succession. Jonny Wang gave Sirius an approving nod, and on he ground James sniffed proudly. 

Peter clenched the handle of his broom. “Lean in,” he whispered to himself. 

“That’s right,” James slapped Peter’s helmet. “More aerodynamic.”

“Keepers,” the captain kicked off from the ground, and Peter went white. 

“Ouch,” Sirius landed next to James, staring up at Peter. 

“Ah,” James winced. “His strengths lie elsewhere.” 

“Where?” Sirius snorted. 

“Hm,” James looked pointedly away from the goal post. 

Chasers were called last, and James nearly rocketed into the air in his excitement. 

“I ought to ‘ve taken that Pepper-Up,” Peter sighed.

“Pepper-up in one hand, caffeine in the other,” Sirius twitched gently. “World’s your oyster.” 

James braked hard and hopped off his broom with a twirl of triumph. “Excellent,” he punched the air. 

“The broom doesn’t make the player, Potter,” the captain gave him a look as she glided to a halt.

“I know,” James ran a hand through his hair.

“Results posted Monday,” Aisha’s voice carried through the storm. “And don’t bother me before then.” 

James and Sirius began walking back to the castle, soggy and triumphant as they argued over whether Mary MacDonald or Justin Shrewsby had been better suited as goalkeeper. 

"I'll catch up," Peter called, but neither James nor Sirius seemed to notice as Peter squared his shoulders and strode back to the center of the pitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> previous ending of this chapter was tonally not quite right, so I changed it. That scene will show up in some other form.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) thanks to @accrementitious (tumblr) for her prank mastermind 
> 
> 2) Humbly request that the second half of the chapter be read while listening to "Feel it Still" by Portugal. The Man.

Perhaps the only class that held all of James’ and Sirius’ collective attention was Potions with Professor Slughorn. The breathless intensity between them as they chopped, squeezed, and stirred was matched only by Lily Evans and Severus Snape on the other side of the dungeon. 

“Professor,” James’ wide eyes blinked away sweat as his hand shot up. Beside him, Sirius’ long hair had risen in a frizzy halo. 

Slughorn’s squashed smile pushed his face into a series of wrinkles as he stood from his desk. “Absolutely foul!” he declared as he leaned over to sniff the girding potion. “Well done, boys, though I hardly expected anything else!”

Snape’s eyes darted over to James, who smirked and sat back with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Professor,” Snape raised a hand, and Slughorn gave Lily a smile as he inspected their cauldron. 

“My goodness!” Slughorn proclaimed, dipping the ladle to sip the potion. “I imagine with a vial of this I might hike to Shanghai! Do tell us your secret,” he winked. 

“Sev ground the asphodel,” Lily said proudly. 

“Very clever,” Slughorn chuckled. “Ten points to Slytherin for ingenuity.” 

James’ foul mood seemed to bow his back as he trudged up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. 

“Did you hear what she called Snivellus?” James railed. 

“James,” Remus said behind him, but James trudged on. 

“Bad enough that she sits on the Slytherin side at all, but with that greasy git?” he ran his fingers through his hair. “He was too interested in Acid Potions by half, if you ask me.” 

“You’re just jealous,” Lily Evan’s voice rang out behind him, and she shoved through the two of them, red hair fanning behind her as she pushed through the portrait hole. She paused, and turned to glare at them. “And, for the record,” she flipped her long hair over her shoulder, “Sev is a better person that you’ll ever be.” 

James opened his mouth to respond, but Sirius grabbed the sleeve of his robes and steered him towards the crowd of Gryffindors hovering by the bulletin board. 

“Get off,” James tried to shake Sirius before Lily disappeared up the stairs. 

“Potter,” Ayesha called from where she sat by the fire, catching a releasing a Golden Snitch. “Nice flying.” 

James’ eyes went wide, and he pushed through the crowd to stare at the list of names neatly written on a paper pinned to the board. 

“YES,” James yelled, face flushed and grinning as he turned to shake Sirius. “Look, look-“ he pointed to Sirius’ name scrawled beneath his. 

“Second year!” Sirius jumped and grabbed James, and they hopped madly in a circle.

Peter stood to the side, watching them, and Remus handed him a licorice snap. 

“Just about every Gryffindor tries out,” Remus said. “Maybe next year-“ 

“I’m on the team,” Peter said abruptly. 

“Oh, I thought,” Remus looked back at the board. 

“I’m- a runner-up, of sorts,” Peter continued. “If someone gets sick, and such.” 

“Congratulations,” Remus smiled. 

“Yeah, well,” Peter flushed, but James and Sirius took that moment to grab them both. 

“We’re celebrating,” James flung out his arms to draw them into a tight circle, and raised an eyebrow. “Anyone fancy borrowing a cake from the kitchens?” 

*

The next morning at breakfast, the glow had not quite faded as James continued to be high-fived and patted on the back by nearly the entire Gryffindor table. 

“Youngest Chaser since Oliver Wimby,” Jonny Wang proclaimed to the table. “And the best beater’s arm I’ve seen in a since mine!” 

The table laughed, and Ayesha shook her head. “We’ll see on the pitch,” she grumbled, but her lips twitched into a smile. 

“You going to finish that?” Sirius pointed to Peter’s scone, which he handed over for Sirius to demolish in neat gulps. 

“Sirius,” Peter nudged him, “is that-“ 

A great black owl carrying a long, thin parcel swooped low over the table, its narrow eyes intent on one student in particular. 

“No way,” Sirius stared at it in disbelief, and stood to catch the parcel as the bird dropped it. The owl gave a haughty hoot, and turned midair to fly back towards the ceiling. 

The other Gryffindors made room on the table, and Sirius laid down the parcel, untying the string that held the brown paper together. It had been threaded with a letter sealed with a wax crest, which Sirius broke with a snap. Three words were written upon the parchment in thin, elegant script: 

_Don’t disappoint us._

“It’s a Comet!” one of the first-years pointed to the handle of a broomstick, which had appeared as the wrappings fell away. 

Sirius pulled back the paper to reveal the rest of the handle, and looked at James. 

“We’re twins,” James grinned, and Sirius seemed to let out a breath. “No one’s going to be able to stop the two of us together.” 

“Especially Slytherin,” Sirius said loudly, and the rest of the table cheered. 

“Why’s Slughorn smiling?” Peter wondered aloud, and Remus looked up from his Transfiguration textbook. 

“Suppose he’s always thought well of Sirius and James,” Remus shrugged, reaching for the rack of toast soldiers. “I’m worried McGonagall’s going to test us on parakeets.”

“Remus,” Peter rolled his eyes, “you’re top of the class.” 

“I’m not sure that’s true,” Remus frowned, and leaned over to discuss avian morphology with Lily, their heads bowed over the textbook. 

Defense Against the Dark Arts was not much more exciting when they discussed Red Caps, and James and Sirius paid no attention as they charmed bits of paper into flying broomsticks. Remus wrote furiously, underlining and circling as he went. 

After class, Remus disappeared yet again into the library while James, Sirius and Peter went back to the dormitory. 

“Bit odd, that he says he’s afraid of heights,” Sirius remarked as Remus left. 

“Hmm?” James floated his paper broomstick alongside himself. 

“Well, he’s practically on the ceiling every time he goes to the library,” Sirius said. “Seems a bit odd he says he’s afraid of a broomstick.” 

“Lupin’s always been a bit odd,” James shrugged. “He’s a decent bloke, though.” 

“Black and Potter,” Slughorn called as he approached the library, his familiar squashed smile wider than usual. He looked down at Peter. “And, er, Petticoat, is it?” 

“Professor,” Sirius’ eyes flicked sideways to James.

“So glad to see you’ve reconciled,” Slughorn patted Sirius on the shoulder. “And that brother of yours- I’ve always said a talent for potion-making runs in your family! Why, your great-uncle Alphard-“

“Thank you, Professor,” Sirius said stiffly. 

“We’ve got, er, practice,” James said quickly, nodding at Sirius. 

“Oh! Made the team in second year, I heard this morning,” Slughorn smiled. “A good day, boys, congratulations to the both of you. Hope to hear your reply soon,” he gave them a wink, and turned away. 

“What’s he on about?” Peter asked. 

“Slug Club,” Sirius growled, and stalked towards the staircase. “Didn’t invite me first year because it might affect his ties with the rest of my family, I reckon. Ten galleons he’s given Reg an invite too.”

“Something of a secret club for all of the up-and-comers Slughorn wants to collect,” James said to Peter’s look of incomprehension. “Mostly people connected to- older families.” 

“Three guesses what house makes up about seventy-five percent of its members,” Sirius muttered. 

When the boys made it back to the dorm, two gold embossed envelopes had been slid under their door, addressed to _Sirius Black_ and _James Potter_. 

“Huh,” James said as he opened the invitation. “Didn’t think I’d rate.” 

Sirius took his own unopened envelope and tore it neatly in half. “Incendio,” he pointed his wand at the shreds, and they smoked and curled into blackened char. 

“You know,” James said into the ensuing silence. “I never much cared for hoity-toity parties.”

“Try being shoved into dress robes when you’re crawling in nappies,” Sirius muttered, sitting on the edge of his four-poster and twirling his wand between his fingers. 

“But,” James raised a hand, “have you considered a… non-traditional attendance?” 

Sirius grinned. “Mr. Potter, you tempt me.” 

*

Silk tapestries were draped artfully over the stone walls of the dungeon. Phoenix tail feathers glowed gold where they fluttered near the ceiling, and a live band was in full swing. The canapes were sprinkled with Puffskein meat, the pineapple sparkled, and the steaks were, of course, dragon meat. 

“Pete,” James hissed from beneath his invisibility cloak, forcing Peter into a crouch to avoid a floating silver tray of unidentified hors d’oeuvres. 

“What was that, Wimby?” Slughorn glanced at the empty air beside him. 

“Professor,” Severus Snape, draped in much the same black robes that he wore every day and smelling strongly of shoe polish, gestured to the tapestry. “Are the silver threads unicorn hair?” 

“Well spotted!” Slughorn’s bulldog smile wrinkled. “Strongest thread in the world, horribly rare of course…”

Severus picked up a sugar mouse from a passing tray as Slughorn continued to gesture at the tapestry. Beneath the invisibility cloak, Sirius gave James a look. James raised an eyebrow and twitched his chin downward. Sirius raised his wand. 

In Severus’ hand, the whiskers of the sugar mouse twitched. A black ring appeared over one glossy eye. 

“And the black,” Slughorn leaned in to stage whisper, hands wide. “Hair of a banshee, if you can believe it! A little treasure given to me by one of my former students, Ignatius-“ 

Severus put the sugar mouse between his lips, and froze. 

“You could say I have a sense for the high achievers,” Slughorn continued, patting Severus’ shoulder.

The sugar mouse squeaked and leapt down Severus’ robes. A tiny black monocle flew through the air as Severus shouted and danced, yanking off the buttons of his robes in a hurry to divest them. 

“Good lord, Severus,” Slughorn gave his gathered guests a weak smile, embarrassed by the scene. The mouse ran out of Severus’ left pant leg, and skittered across the floor. 

James snickered from beneath the cloak, and Snape’s head shot up, dark black eyes narrow as he searched the empty air. 

Sirius raised his wand again, and a poffle of puffskeins rose from the canapes. They were pink, purple, round and soft as clouds as they cooed and hummed to the crowd. They wore tiny glittering tiaras that bounced light across the walls. Several guests started to clap. 

Slughorn looked around the room, nodding and waving. Half of his smile had slipped from his face.

James, Sirius, and Peter raised their wands. 

Crystallized pineapple flew off trays in a tornado of sugar, whirling about in a dazzling display that had now gained the attention of every smiling guest. They coalesced to form a towering pineapple with a dress made of sparkling crystal. Two large eyes popped out of its spiny head, and it spotted Slughorn. The heavy pineapple began to shimmy across the floor, dangling earrings bouncing as it went. 

Slughorn took a step back. Then another. 

An ominous roar sounded from the dragon steaks, and the puffskeins sprouted sharp, curving fangs. The guests stopped clapping.

From the tray of steaks burst a Hungarian Horntail, top hat balanced between its horns. For a moment it hovered above the guests, wooden pipe steaming from its nostrils. Then it let out a roar that shook the tapestries, and charged. 

Slughorn ran out of the dungeons, pineapple shimmying close behind like an enormous chandelier. The Horntail flew faster than Lucius Malfoy could run, releasing puffs of smoke that charred his blonde hair. Puffskeins darted through the crowd, sinking their fangs into Mulciber while Lily Evans shot off red sparks. A small army of sugar mice twirled their monocles like slingshots. 

Within minutes, the room had cleared. A dull roar sounded above them as James and Sirius gasped for breath between fits of laughter. 

“Nice,” Peter slipped out from beneath the cloak, and picked a pastry from off the floor. 

James wiped tears from his eyes, grinning ear to ear. “Meet your expectations?” 

“I will dream of this night for the rest of my life,” Sirius confirmed. “Canape?”

James slipped out from under the cloak, surveying the room, which looked as if it’d been hit by a hurricane. “To the victor, the spoils,” he plucked through one of the floating trays

A high scream cut the silence. Peter dropped his pastry, hand going to his wand. 

“Was that?” James frowned, running to the doorway. 

“They ought to’ve gone to the Great Hall,” Sirius shook his head, staring down the dark hall. “That sounded like-“

Deep in the bowels of the dungeons, another scream rang out. Peter winced, hands flying up to cover his ears. 

James ran towards the noise, Sirius close on his heels. Water dripped down cold stone walls, and between each flickering sconce lay large swaths of darkness. A shadow emerged, black with a pale face twisted into a snarl. 

Severus Snape was nearly unrecognizable with his robes in disarray, and his hair hung in greasy chunks over his face. He brandished his wand at James and Sirius. 

“Potter and Black,” he sneered. “I knew you’d come after me. Jealous you weren’t invited, is that it?” 

“Snivellus,” Sirius crossed his arms, and lifted a haughty brow. “I know you dream of me every night, but I don’t waste my time-“ 

The scream rang out again, louder this time, and the four boys covered their ears. Severus’ wand nearly poked James eye as he stepped forward, hand shaking. 

“What have you done now,” he hissed. 

James rolled his eyes, and shoved Severus’ wand away from his face. “It’s not me.”

“You expect me to believe-“

Suddenly, a damp section of stone wall opened, and a tide of Slytherins poured out. James pulled Sirius and Peter to the side as the students scrambled over one another to flee the dungeons, and Severus was swept up in the tide. 

“Reg,” Sirius called to one of the retreating backs. 

“Sirius?” Regulus turned, several of the students slamming into him as he went against the tide. “What are you-“

“What’s happening?” Sirius asked, and Regulus shook his head. 

“The lake,” Regulus pointed into the Slytherin common room, and James darted in as the crowd thinned. 

“Wait- Sirius!” Regulus called as the other two Gryffindors followed James in. 

The water was up to their knees, and a half-finished apple bobbed along with the current. The Slytherin common room was bathed in an eerie green light that flickered through giant glass windows. Beyond the windows lay the Black Lake, which spurted into the room through spiderwebbing cracks in the glass. 

“Get out!” a Prefect yelled, his wand wavering as the Head Girl and Head Boy’s sealing charms failed to hold back the water. 

“We can help!” James yelled, then a _boom_ like cannon fire shook the room. A large, deep crack had traveled down the center of the windows, and the water that burst from it had the force of an erumpent. 

“Run!” the prefect screamed as the water rose so high they were forced to swim towards the sealed doorway. 

“Aberto,” the Head Girl pointed her wand at the wall, and the doorway opened to release a river into the dungeons. 

James, Sirius, Peter, and the Prefect sailed into the dungeons like paper boats, smacking into rocky walls as they went. The doorway sealed shut behind them, and the water evened to knee height.

“Blimey,” the Head Boy dripped, eyes wide as he stared at the wet patch of stone. 

“Out of my way,” Professor Slughorn charged towards them, eyes wide. A sugar crystal hung in his hair. 

“Don’t-“ the Prefect stopped Slughorn as he approached the wall. 

“Avery, what on earth,” Slughorn gaped at him. 

“It’s flooded, Professor." 

“Problem with the pipes again?” 

The Head Girl shook her head. “The windows’ve shattered.” 

“Impossible,” Slughorn’s eyes went wide, and he seemed to sink into his robes. 

“There was a scream,” James said, and Slughorn's brow furrowed as he took them in.

“What are you boys doing here?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! My goal is a book-length fic, which is Work, and in the absence of capital I thrive on (cough) motivation.


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